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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The billionaire's thirty-million-dollar bride

The billionaire's thirty-million-dollar bride

"I want to make love to you and worship your body as befitting enough for a goddess." "Sex is best done in front of a camera with millions of subscribers crediting my account with dollars." ___ Never has the thought of being actively involved in the adult movie industry in her early twenties ever crossed Cecilia's mind. With finances being on gridlock, having a dying mother is enough motivation to fuel her passion in becoming an A-list pornstar who has her head buried right into the game without having emotions ever interfere. Why waste her talent when she could be monetized, popular, and live the dream life she has always fantasized about as a kid? Sebastian might have all the billions in the world but his parents wouldn't stop breathing down his neck and pressuring him. Out of frustration in a heated argument, he might have blurted out having a fiance and now he is on an ultimatum to present his woman to the family in a week else the CEO position falls to his elder brother who is the role model of the family as opposed to him being the black sheep. Sebastian needs a transactional yet strictly platonic relationship without having leeches try to make money off him and Cece needs Seb's money after all she is a trained expert. Their part crosses, it all started as a drafted contract, who knows? It is probably karma's way of bringing two flawed yet compatible people together.
One Hundred Pranks, One True End

One Hundred Pranks, One True End

For two years, I lived a fairy tale with Liam Hayes, the tech mogul. He' d lost his memory in a terrible accident, but he remembered me, or so he said. I, a struggling artist, bought into his relentless passion. We were building a life, a family even. I held a positive pregnancy test, ready to share our news. Then, I heard my college rival, Chloe Jenkins, speak from his office, her voice like sugar-coated poison. "Two whole years. Ninety-nine times. You promised." My blood ran cold as Liam's sharp, cynical laugh filled the room. This wasn't the gentle man I knew. He confirmed it. My entire relationship had been a cruel game, a "prank" designed to make me look like a fool. They mocked my ruined artworks, my canceled shows, every humiliation I' d endured. Liam had been there each time, comforting me with fake sympathy, while secretly logging his "pranks." Chloe purred, "One hundred pranks, one hundred proofs of your love for me." Liam' s reply, dripping with adoration, shattered me: "She was just a means to an end. A pawn." The pregnancy test in my pocket felt like a block of ice. My love, our life, our future baby-all a sick joke. My fairy tale was a cage, my prince a monster. He wanted one hundred pranks, a century of my pain. When I found his hidden sketchbook, full of intimate drawings of me and a receipt for an engagement ring, a dangerous hope flickered. Had he felt something real? But that hope died when I called a women's clinic. This child was conceived in deceit, an extension of his game. I refused to bring a child into this twisted world. At a yacht party, after my procedure, Liam's friends, at Chloe's urging, forced me to eat poisoned oysters, designed to induce a miscarriage. They knew. "He didn't want a child with her tying him down," Chloe hissed. "He was just waiting for the right moment for the problem to go away. I just provided the opportunity." I bled, the pain excruciating, as Liam, seeing me, yelled for a helicopter. Chloe, cold and final, drilled into my fading consciousness: "Don't you dare forget who you're doing all this for. You love me. Remember?" Liam' s strained reply: "I know, Chloe. I... I know." How could he? How could the man who held me at night, whispering endearments, be the same man who orchestrated my destruction? Why him? Why me? Ava Miller died that day. But Elise Vance was born, and she was coming for them.
The Billionaire Heiress's Cold Revenge

The Billionaire Heiress's Cold Revenge

The sterile hospital walls closed in on me, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a cruel reminder of the life I' d just lost. My late-term miscarriage had torn a gaping hole in my world. Reaching for my phone, I desperately needed to hear my husband Matthew' s voice. But then I saw it: Matthew' s new Instagram post. A tiny, perfect footprint, emblazoned with the caption, "Welcome to the world, little angel. Dad will always protect you." My world shattered anew. When I finally reached him, he was impatient, dismissive, and with Maria-his former intern-and their newborn, in the same hospital. He told me to "be strong," then commanded, "Don't let the one that's gone compete for attention with the one that's here." His words echoed, a cruel, mocking testament to my desolation. My own parents, his parents, and our entire social circle pressured me to accept his twisted lie – that it was just IVF, a "life debt." The final straw came at a lavish party meant to celebrate his new "family." His mistress, Maria, gloated, admitting their baby was conceived "the old-fashioned way" during a drunken company retreat. Then, she screamed, faking a scare, and Matthew slapped me across the face in front of everyone. In that moment, the grief, the pain, the confusion vanished. Only ice remained. I walked out of that house, his signature on divorce papers in hand, and called Ethan Scott, my childhood friend and Matthew' s biggest rival. "Marry me," I said, "I'll give you controlling shares of Jenkins Construction. All I want is for you to help me ruin Matthew Roberts."
Bound to the Ruthless King: Her Perfect Destruction

Bound to the Ruthless King: Her Perfect Destruction

A flicker of candlelight illuminated the room. Now she could see him. His expression cold and dangerous. He rose. Each step he took toward her was slow, deliberate and predatory. Power radiated from him. Her pulse raced, but she did not look away. She would not break. "It seems you still haven't grasped your situation, Princess," He sneered, the title dripping with disdain. His hand settled on her shoulder. She stiffened, his fingers trailing up to her throat. Then tightened, knocking out her breath. She gasped. "You are not a princess here, Sabrina," he said, his grip tightening. "You are in my kingdom. My territory." She clawed at his hand, struggling for air. "You speak when I allow it," He continued coldly. "You breathe because I permit it. And if you defy me..." His eyes darkened, "I will punish you." His voice dropped lower sending waves of shivers down her spine. "I own you now, Sabrina. My hostage. My property." He leaned closer. "And there is no escape." He released her. She staggered slightly, clutching her burning throat. Her wound had reopened, blood seeping through. Still, she held his gaze. Defiant and filled with hate. He hates her. She can see and feel it.And she hates him just the same. He is a monster and a destroyer. "If you wish to live longer than I intend," he said, eyes burning with loathe. "Behave." "Cole.", He called, his voice a levelled rumble. The door opened immediately. A man stepped in, bowing. "Yes, my king." "Take her back. She is not to leave her room unless I say so." He held her gaze as he spoke. "Yes, my king." "And inform Indiana I sent for her." He turned away. "Follow me," Cole said. Sabrina obeyed. The moment she stepped outside, she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. King Damon... He is dangerous. He hadn't even begun to unleash the full extent of his rage. But she had seen enough. His hate is so raw and deep. He would destroy everything in his path to get his revenge on her. And now, she had to survive him. Survival. She has no idea how to do that BLURB. He took her kingdom. He took her freedom. Now, he wants her broken. Sabrina was born and raised a princess but was forced into captivity by the man her father destroyed. Now she must endure his cold cruelty, his rules, and his unrelenting hatred. To survive she has to play the game of vengeance.and power. But in a game of vengeance and power, the heart is the most dangerous thing to lose.
Shadowed By Her, Now Free

Shadowed By Her, Now Free

For seven years, I lived in Chloe Adams' s shadow, the architect of her fame, ghostwriting her witty captions and composing jingles, content to be the loyal friend. Then, at her engagement party, Chloe announced her new brand deal, her arm linked with reality TV star Brody Hayes. "It' s time for you to find your own spotlight, you know? Away from me." Her casual dismissal, meant to be a gentle nudge, landed like a physical blow, firing me from her life. Everyone in the room watched, waiting for me to nod, to accept my role as Chloe' s devoted groupie. But something inside me snapped. "No," I said, the word cutting through the celebratory hum like glass. Chloe' s perfect smile faltered. "I' m just done. Done writing your posts, done composing your jingles, done being your shadow." Her face blotched red, the gracious influencer replaced by a furious toddler. "You can' t be 'done' !" she hissed. "I' m not done with you!" I thought I was finally free, but her fury escalated. She shoved me, then roared, "Your parents gave me a key years ago, remember? What' s yours is mine." I rushed home to find my sanctuary invaded, my studio defiled. A stranger strummed my grandfather' s prized vintage Martin guitar, another giggled, scrolling through my private files. Rage burned through me. As I called 911, Brody snatched my phone and smashed it. "He thinks he' s so much better than us just because his parents have money," Brody declared, manipulating the crowd. Chloe' s eyes blazed. I felt a sharp sting as she slapped me, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Helpless, I watched as she grabbed a bottle of sticky red liqueur and upended it over my head. Laughter and jeers erupted, phones flashing, recording my humiliation. Then, I saw it: Brody wore my mother' s hand-carved wooden bird necklace, a sacred link to her memory. "Chloe gave it to me. Said it was just some trinket she found lying around. A good luck charm." "It' s a cheap piece of wood. Stop making a scene over nothing. You' re embarrassing yourself." My mother' s last gift, the most precious thing I owned, dismissed as "nothing." A raw, desperate cry escaped me. "That was my mother' s. It was a gift from my dead mother!" Her face went dead white. "You shut your mouth!" she shrieked, striking my head. Brody whispered to Chloe, eyes on my open laptop. "His laptop is still on. The application portal is still open." My college applications. My future. "NO!" I screamed, struggling against the men holding me. "Don' t you touch that!" But I was forced to watch as Chloe, with a cruel smile, clicked, erasing my Yale application, my entire dream. "This is Yale," she snarled, holding up my laptop before letting it smash to the floor. A piece of the broken screen sliced my cheek, the warm trickle of blood a final punctuation. "The application deadline is in fifteen minutes," Brody chimed. "Tough luck, man." Hope died. "Lock him in the basement until morning." The basement. My deepest, primal fear. "Chloe, no. Please. Not the basement. Do anything else. Please!" I begged, dignity gone. But Brody' s whisper sealed my fate: "He' ll ruin everything." Chloe' s eyes hardened to stone. "Do it." They dragged me, struggling, pleading, towards the yawning black maw. I tumbled down the creaking stairs, landing on the cold, damp concrete. The door slammed shut above me. The click of the lock echoed in the suffocating darkness. I woke in a hospital bed, Maria, our housekeeper, explaining she' d found me. My parents burst in, back from Paris. "I' m so sorry we let this happen. We brought a monster into our home. Into your life." "It' s okay, Dad. She didn' t ruin anything." "I got my acceptance letter from Juilliard two months ago. A full scholarship." The only thing Chloe destroyed last night was the last bit of affection I had for her. Thousands of miles away, Chloe' s card was declined. She tried to call me. Voicemail. She tried again. Voicemail. She swore I was playing games. Meanwhile, at Juilliard, I stood on stage. "You are the protagonist of your own life. Don' t ever let anyone else hold the pen." Chloe Adams, abandoned and broke, would keep waiting for me to come crawling back.